Dark and Dangerous
by arctapus
Summary: A challenge story. Make a story about Faramir paired with Grima. Ick, I know. But it was a great challenge and this story is the result. It is slash, but pg.


TITLE: Dark and Dangerous

AUTHOR: arctapus-h/boy

CHALLENGE: GRIMA AND FARAMIR

CODES: LOTR, PG-13, AU, Challenge, Odd pairing alert: F/GW, E

SUMMARY: This is the request: "I prefer darker stories but do not require them. Winter theme not required at all. Any rating. I prefer human pairings but dislike incest as a happy relationship. Pairing with Eomer, pre-war with Halbarad, or I would like to see Faramir with Grima somehow. (Like that would be happy.) Pre-war advisor Grima comes to Minas Tirith or Faramir goes to Edoras. A rarer pairing, at any rate. Movie or bookverse fine."

DISCLAIMER: No one makes a dime from this. This is for fun.

FEEDBACK is welcomed and answered. I appreciate your thoughts about this effort.

=0=

===Meduseld, Edoras, Rohan

The air was brisk and the hint of snow in the wind told them in the most emphatic way that winter was coming. The grass that fed the horses so famed in this part of the world was brown and bent over, sullen at the loss of their fine green clothes. Fields had been harvested, fodder laid in and wood and horse chips gathered in mounds by houses to be used in the hard winter to come. Rohan was battening down for the storms that buried the small farmsteads and villages for months until the spring thaw. In that time, people would do the work of getting ready for the next planting season and that greatest time of all, the days of foaling.

At the moment, the nephew of the King and the second son of the Steward of Gondor were licking their wounds on the steps of the great hall after being denied yet again access to the monarch. The King's 'counselor' belayed it. Since the death of the heir, Theodred, in battle against the enemy the King had slipped away from those who loved him and into the embrace of the enemy, the bestial creature, Grima Wormtongue.

"He seems to be everywhere."

"It appears so."

"How do you bear it?"

Eomer considered the question and shrugged. "I have to face the truth and do what I can," he said, the intensity of his aggravation about the situation evident on his handsome face. "We do what we can when we do not have the King's ear."

Faramir of Gondor nodded. "You live my life."

Eomer of Rohan glanced at his great good friend, noting the flicker of pain that crossed his face before disappearing as swiftly as it had come. A frisson of anger at the source of Faramir's grief spiraled through him and then was gone. Again, Eomer, fatherless son was flummoxed at the attitude of Denethor, reluctant father of sons. That man was evil he considered for not the first time.

They stood together on the steps leading to the great door of the Hall of the Kings in Edoras. Faramir had come in place of his brother, Boromir to discuss incursions by orcs and Uruk Hai on the trade routes between Rohan and Gondor. He had hoped to speak to the King directly but Theoden would not see him. He was told this was so by the King's 'counselor', Grima Wormtongue whose smarmy statements thus had made his long journey practically useless. The obsequious little man had offended him in ways that surprised him. "Where did this beast come from?" Faramir asked.

Eomer sighed deeply. "He is the creature of Saruman."

"Really?" Faramir asked, surprised. "Why is he here?"

"He's been here for some time. I have had to fight the enemy in the outlands and when I came back, he was here. Since Theodred has gone away," he said pausing for a moment around the lump in his throat. "Since that has come to pass, he has made himself indispensible to the King."

"Then perhaps you should dispense with him," Faramir replied a slight but humorless grin on his lips.

Eomer nodded, his own grim smile in place. "I dream of it daily. He is wily and keeps to places where he can be seen by others constantly. He also keeps his own bodyguard of thugs from many places close about him."

"I have seen one of them myself in Osgiliath," Faramir replied.

They were silent a moment and then Faramir shifted, turning to look back at the banners snapping in the constant breeze that swept the hillside. "Then perhaps it might be a good thing to band together and make this problem disappear. Surely between the two of us we can resolve this problem."

Eomer stare out at the plain stretching in all directions, the life's blood of their people's hope, grasslands of high quality that helped produce marvelous horses. He would give his life for this land and her people and consider it a worthy gift. Turning slowly, meeting Faramir's eyes levelly, he nodded. "It would be an act of great patriotism to do this thing."

"It would bind our two peoples together as adversity always does," Faramir replied warming to the idea.

Eomer nodded and then smiled genuinely, the first time since Faramir had arrived. "For Rohan and Gondor," he said quietly.

Faramir merely nodded.

===It was evening the following day when Grima came to the balcony filling his lungs with the brisk and frigid air. He was his usual self, unhealthy, shifty and unattractive. He sniffled and wiped his nose on a handkerchief which he replaced into his pocket. His clothing, though of good quality had not been cleaned in a long time and his hair was unwashed and slicked down with an oil that gave a slightly sour odor.

He had come out to escape the malevolent gaze of the Rohirrim that found his presence an affront to all that they stood for. They hated him with a special fury that tested even his resolve. Saruman had not understood how proud and independent the Rohirrim were but he was finding out for himself. It was another grievance against the wizard that he stockpiled in his mind, a grievance that he would hope to avenge someday. As he stood in the shadow of the open doorway, he heard footsteps behind him. Turning, prepared to fight or run, he found himself staring into the slightly drunken eyes of Faramir of Gondor.

"You surprised me," he said. "I didn't expect anyone to come out after me."

"You underestimate yourself, Grima," Faramir stammered, moving to stand beside the smaller man, filling his lungs as he did with cold air. He exhaled loudly and smiled, looking down at the fascinated creature beside him. "Tonight, I am a friend to all men."

"Really," Grima said smiling in spite of himself. "It's the drink talking. I have few who would call me friend."

"Really?" Faramir asked rubbing his face with his hands. "Why is that so?"

"Ask me when you are not in your cups, my Lord Faramir," he replied caustically. "Or better yet get your slanders from your friend, Eomer."

"Friend," Faramir asked his expression falling slack. "Eomer is not my friend."

Grima blinked a moment and shifted his feet, staring at Faramir as if to find the joke somewhere on his face. "You appear to be great and good friends."

Faramir snorted and turned, glancing around him to find a post to lean against. Finding nothing, he sighed. "You presume a lot, Grima. I am here for Gondor. I feel nothing for Eomer. He is an uncouth horseman, nothing more. I on the other hand am a man of court and cultured as you can see," he said bowing slightly and wobbling. "I am required to be chivalrous to all whom I encounter, even those born in a barn when I am on a mission for my people but that is all. Besides," Faramir said listing slightly as he turned to glance back at the doorway. Looking with exaggeration that no one was listening, he turned back and whispered, "He's not my type anyway."

Grima stared at Faramir as if he had just fallen from the sky. Part of his mind, the evil and devious side warned him against drawing conclusions that allowed anyone to come too close to him. Another part of his mind was smitten, even fascinated and it began to war with his usually careful and cruel natural bent about people. "Not your type."

Faramir grinned slightly and moved closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial level. Leaning closer, he smiled broadly, winking. "He's not my type."

"What exactly," Grima asked his watery eyes blinking rapidly, " is your type?"

Faramir sighed and took a deep breath again, looking at Grima with a clearer and much steadier gaze. "I like them dangerous, Grima. Dark and dangerous if you know what I mean."

Grima looked at him, considering what he was saying with surprise, his innate suspicion rising. "Dark. And Dangerous."

"Yes," Faramir said unbuttoning his tunic and stretching his arms, his chest revealing itself for a moment. Smooth skin, slightly tanned with freckles and a small white scar bared itself, revealing a chest full of well-developed muscles. An accomplished archer and horseman, Faramir of Gondor was deceptively well made and it showed briefly. Lowering his arms, he sighed and shrugged. "You're a man who has lived a little bit, experienced and worldly. You know what I mean," he said turning and nodding to Grima.

Grima looked at him a moment and then found himself nodding even though he was struggling to understand the full meaning of what Faramir was saying. "I do. At least … I … perhaps you can enlighten me. So we both understand each other without confusion of any kind."

Faramir paused and turned, staring at Grima with a serious expression. "You do not know what I mean then."

"I didn't say that," Grima hastened. "I just want to know if we truly are clear … that is, if we truly are together in what we know."

Faramir suppressed the urge to laugh as Grima's words trailed off. His face was schooled to a seriousness that was hard to maintain but he continued, considering the small and unattractive figure with a regard he did not feel. "You know what it's like."

"What what is like?"

Faramir managed to show an expression of slight surprise. "Power. Power and privilege. After a while when one has anything and everything they want when they want it, you find yourself craving more."

"Ah," Grima said nodding. "That I can agree with."

"Sometimes, when you have sated every urge, every desire and need you find that what was good once before does not even move you. You find yourself craving other things. Dark and dangerous things." Faramir whispered the last, moving closer, his eyes narrowing as he held Grima's gaze. "You find yourself needing things that only certain people can give you. You find yourself seeking out those who might understand what a man like you or me might desire, men who have known much and wish for more. Things beyond the mundane."

Faramir moved closer pausing just before the smaller man, making him look upward. Grima did not move back so entranced was he with the conversation and the strain of listening to a barely audible tone. He was entranced with the conversation and the man before him, a tall and powerful man with startlingly intense eyes.

"And it's about desires, Grima. Desires that you do not dare share with others. Personal desires," Faramir whispered. Then he moved back and stared up at the skies for a moment. Turning his gaze toward the silent figure beside him, he smiled slightly. "You do not really believe that Eomer qualifies as that sort of man, do you? That he has the imagination for such things?"

Grima swallowed hard and nodded. "No. I do not believe he is such a man."

Faramir nodded and sighed. "Good night, Grima." With that, he turned and walked inside once more. Grima watched him go and when he was gone from sight, he gasped. He was so surprised and entranced by the strange conversation that he had not noticed he was holding his breath. Licking his lips, he turned and looked out at the darkened plains once more lost for a moment or two, his thoughts in turmoil as he sought to understand what had just happened.

"So I am a man of limited imagination, not the sort who would consort with dangerous dark entities," Eomer said smirking at Faramir who stood by the window of Eomer's room, a glass of wine in his hand.

Faramir turned and smiled, raising his glass. "We both know that is not true. You are a deeply disturbed man."

Eomer laughed raising his glass to his friend. "To dark and dangerous thoughts."

They drained their glasses and Faramir moved to the chair near the fire, flopping down and putting his feet on the grate. Eomer lay back on the bed rubbing his bare chest with his fingers. He was tired but felt more relaxed at that moment than he had been since the appearance one day of Grima in court. "You should not be here," Eomer said. "What if Grima sees you?"

"I'm leaving," Faramir said, putting the glass on a small table by the door. He rose and looked at Eomer. "We must not fail. We shall have only one chance to do this thing."

"If you can take it what would it cost me but pleasure?" Eomer replied with a smile.

Faramir smiled and nodded. Walking across the room to the window, he opened the latch and peered out, stepping through and closing it behind him. The storm outside was gathering but the storm inside had finally taken a turn for the better. If they accomplished what they planned to do correctly, Grima Wormtongue would be gone from their lives in a few days. Gone and unlamented forever. With that thought, Eomer fell into the first peaceful sleep he had experienced in months.

===The next morning, Faramir walked into the dining room where most of the senior members of the court took breakfast together. He looked like a man nursing a hangover as most of the court was that morning as well. He walked to his place at table, an honorable seat due to his station and accepted food and drink from a serving girl. He stared at the food, resting his head on his hands as he yawned deeply.

Sitting nearby watching Faramir with hawk-like eyes since he had entered the room, Grima Wormtongue was thinking hard. The conversation the night before had unsettled him and he had been unable to get a good rest. The unspoken in Faramir's words was as eloquent and disturbing as the spoken. Images unbidden had come into his head and he once more considered how it felt to be talked to by someone who seemed to want his company. It had felt good he thought, very good indeed.

Since coming to Edoras, he had found no one with whom he could talk since everyone around him loathed him, even those he paid well to protect him. Saruman's gold and his own promises of future wealth kept him safe in a court filled with people who would use him for archery practice at the first available moment. His ego-driven self-importance and a deeply cultivated sense of personal grievance made him aggravated that no one suitable was available with which to talk. He was on his own and alone and as long as his power and purse held out, he was safe.

Then this one came, this Steward's son and he had with his brief conversation, overturned his carefully cultivated sense of place. Now he found himself having visions both erotic and disturbing, the same sort he had at Isengard among Saruman's mad demons. However, this time the attraction was beautiful and hinted at a sort of deviousness that was tantalizing. He would have to speak with Faramir again and see if his thought processes held without the lubrication of drink.

Eomer sat near to Faramir talking to his sister, the other object of Grima's obsessive fascinations. To him, she was an ice queen to his strident warrior king and in his fantasies Grima had many a disturbing vision to while away long lonely nights. Now he considered if Eomer were gone then it would be easier to fulfill the orders of his master and find for himself both a queen and a kingdom.

Then there was the Steward's son …

Grima sighed. He made a vow to talk to the lanky blond again. In private.

Eomer rose, nodding politely to Faramir and then walked with two other Rohirrim out of the hall. Faramir did not appear to be interested in Eomer's exit and it appeared to Grima that Eomer had little interest in the Gondorian. Perhaps he had been wrong in assigning a friendship where there was none. Again, fact was validating impressions and he found himself staring at Faramir in spite of himself.

Eowyn, rising and smiling excused herself to Faramir and left him to dine alone. One-by-one, the Rohirrim in the room left until they were the only two in the hall. Grima watched Faramir, admiring the beauty of his hair and the mannerly way in which he ate his food. Life among rough horsemen had been difficult for a man who aspired to great things and Grima found himself even more drawn to this obviously refined man than before. Rising, carrying his glass, he walked down the long table and paused before Faramir.

"Good morrow, Faramir. I was wondering if I might join with you as you dine," Grima asked sitting as he spoke.

"Of course," Faramir replied sipping his ale. "You appear uncommonly happy this morning. I am told you are a morose man."

Grima shrugged. "What care I of the musings of barbarians."

Faramir smirked and nodded. "Good point," he said.

"I was curious," Grima began slowly. He paused and thought. "Do you remember our conversation last night?"

Faramir considered Grima's words even as he spotted three men of Grima's guard moving to stand around the room. He shrugged. "I remember everything."

"Indeed," Grima said smiling. "And tell me more if you will about your theories and desires. If you do not mind me asking."

Faramir stared at him, holding his gaze until just before Grima's wavered and then he smiled slightly. Leaning forward on his elbows, he considered his foe carefully. "I can presume you speak of what motivates my pleasure."

Grima swallowed slightly, unnerved by the reaction this man could coax from him. "What does motivate you, Faramir of Gondor?"

Faramir leaned closer and dropped his voice to a husky whisper. "Many things, Grima. Many things that one would hesitate to speak of in more than a hushed voice. My father is a hard man and I have learned to be hard too. I have learned to find for myself what I cannot find in my family life. I seek out men for my pleasure who understand what I need. I find in certain … methods and practices such pleasure, such intensity that I find more mundane pastimes inadequate to move me no matter how beautiful the partner. Such things are best kept secret. There are few who would understand."

Grima nodded, his gaze focused intently upon Faramir. "I agree. Few understand the burdens that leadership and power cast upon one. And such things they are not for everyone."

"No, they are not," Faramir agreed whispered softly, his face even closer to Grima's. He could see the rise of Grima's intense fascination and so he leaned back shrugging. "Of course, you are here and I am in Gondor. What can ever come of it? Perhaps you can convince Eomer to play such games with you."

"You bring up the hated name of my foe and ruin my visions without a care," Grima winced.

"Then remove the hated name from your life and you will be free of such vexation forever," Faramir replied turning once more to his food. His reference was casual and even Grima blinked.

"Removed the hated name?" Grima asked.

Faramir looked up and nodded, biting into his bread with relish. "Why not?"

"Kill the nephew of the King," Grima said watching Faramir closely.

"Remove the nephew, acquire the niece," Faramir replied. "You think your pained and woeful efforts to woo her are not noticed?"

Grima leaned back, color draining from his pale face. "I am not aware of what you imply."

Faramir snorted. "If you say so. But consider how much freer you will be without the shadow of Eomer everywhere you turn."

"That would be true if I was so inclined," Grima said. "You seem so cavalier to suggest regicide. Do you not worry that someone might chop off your head at some point in future?"

Faramir shrugged. "I am the spare. My great and much beloved brother is the heir to the throne. Unless …"

Grima watched Faramir, transfixed. "Go on."

"Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown or so they say," Faramir replied finishing his breakfast.

Grima looked at Faramir as if he had transformed himself into someone completely new. The unspoken inference was that Faramir planned to kill his own brother at some point in future. Some small remaining corner of Grima's soul that was still capable of decency was shocked and a bit appalled but the greatest part was enraptured. This man was someone Grima Wormtongue could call friend. He watched as Faramir rose, wiping his mouth on a cloth. "You are going?"

"I cannot have a meeting with the King and so my business is finished here," Faramir said. "I must leave before the winter comes hard and my return is made more difficult than it already is."

Grima half raised, holding out his hand. "Do not go. Stay a while. I will see what I can do about the king. I would like to speak with you further about matters we hold in common. If you could but wait a day or two, perhaps it will be of great personal benefit for the two of us."

Faramir considered Grima and then nodded slowly. "I am always interested in my own personal benefit, Wormtongue. Have no fear in knowing that." Then with those words, Faramir turned and walked out of the hall.

Grima watched him go, his heart racing and his chest tightening with barely contained excitement. He was filled with emotions about Faramir and Gondor, about Rohan, power and revenge. He would have to explore these themes further with this, a man nearly as amoral and self-motivated as he was. The thought of it made him hard.

"He took the bait?"

"Like the starving little weasel that he is."

Eomer smiled and turned to the door, staring at it for a long moment. "We have to make our move soon, very soon. If we do not you might find yourself in a situation that you find untenable."

Faramir smiled. "Getting naked with a gopher is not in the plan. We should make our move tomorrow. The set up must happen tonight."

Eomer nodded and watched as Faramir turned and walked to the door of the stable. Tonight, they would do the set up and see if Grima would take the bait. If he did, then they would close the trap tomorrow. If that happened Rohan and her King would be free forever. He turned back and began to brush his horse with strong strokes, his heart as light and easy as the day he first sat a horse.

===Later that day, King's Library

Faramir put down his book and stared at the figure before him. Standing in garments of jet-black, his hair washed and combed and his person actually appearing to be clean for a change, Grima Wormtongue waited. "You surprised me."

Grima nodded and smiled; an oily and unsettling thing. "It is you who have surprised me."

The door behind them closed, the guard who normally accompanied Grima leaving. Faramir sat at in a chair in front of a blazing hearth. Beyond the windows nearby snow was falling and by morning there would be nearly half a dozen inches of light powder covering the earth, the first of the season. Grima paused and then turned pulling the other arm chair closer to the fire, settling himself in it with a contented air. Their knees were nearly touching and Faramir knew that was no accident on the wormtongue's part. "There," Grima said. "Much warmer."

"Warm is good," Faramir agreed marking the place in his book. "Hot is better."

Grima's eyes shot toward Faramir even as he gave the impression of passive contentment. "I have thought over what you mentioned this morning and I am interested in any thoughts you have that might elaborate on that theme."

Faramir nodded. "Well, you wish for me to tell you what I would do if I were in your place faced with all the myriad problems you have to resolve. Correct?"

"Your impressions and contributions to my understanding will be most welcome," Grima said, the ghost of a smile in his voice. Even as he spoke, he moved his knee closer to Faramir. With great self-control, Faramir ignored the action and sat with complete indifference to Grima's action. "I am open to suggestions," he concluded.

Faramir nodded, staring at the fire as he appeared to be thinking over the request. "It is my experience that you move someone out of their comfort area to the place where you can master them. Here in this hall, Eomer knows the lay of the land and he can maneuver with impunity. I would suggest that coaxing him elsewhere would be the best course of action."

"How could one do that without battling a company of companions? He goes nowhere without a cohort."

"Then you lure him. You get him to drop his guard and show up without companions."

"And how is that accomplished?" Grima asked moving his knee to touch Faramir's own. The contact sent sexual energy spidering through him and he settled back even more into the bulk of the chair.

"Eomer likes to check his horse to see that he is well, especially when cold weather sets in. He grooms him daily and makes sure he is cared for in the best manner possible. He goes of an evening, late evening most times to do this. You could meet him there and end him."

"Me? Myself?" Grima asked looking at Faramir with concern.

"You are not afraid are you?" Faramir asked looking at him with a slight frown.

"How am I supposed to creep up behind a rider and kill him in his barn? Do you not see the problems there?" Grima asked gesturing with a hand.

"I see the problem. Get someone else to do it if you cannot."

"I pay my men to protect me against these barbarians. I cannot expect that they would directly murder a member of the royal family. They are criminals and thugs but they are also not stupid. None of them would do this thing for me."

"Then I will," Faramir said.

It was silent a moment and then Grima cleared his throat. "You would kill Eomer for me."

"Why not?" Faramir asked gazing from the fire to the suddenly wary figure of his nemesis.

"Why?" Grima asked. "What do you want in return?"

"You offend me and wound me gravely," Faramir said his mock outrage evident. "You seem to think that between gentlemen and friends, events cannot be managed without some form of reciprocity."

"That is because, 'friend', they usually cannot be," Grima said his sarcasm evident. "What would you take in return?"

Faramir sat back and mused a moment. "I would take in return that you come to Gondor and kill my father."

Grima sat silently a long time considering that request. "You will still be the spare as you yourself said."

"Yes, but my brother is little inclined to rule. He will need someone to manage the daily business, to gather the reins of power together for the good of the people."

Grima nodded and they both sat staring at the fire. "You would in fact be Lord of Gondor and I, Lord of Rohan."

"Would Saruman permit such to happen?" Faramir asked quietly.

A look of pure hatred came over Grima, his expression intense and cruel. "I care not what Saruman desires. He does not appreciate me or what I have done. Forget him."

"If you say then," Faramir said with a slight smile. "Lord of Gondor. That sounds good."

Grima smiled and then stared down at Faramir's knee. He reached down and placed his hand on it, feeling under the expensive trousers hard muscle and bone. Faramir closed his eyes barely containing his revulsion as Grima sighed beside him. Slowly, deliberately, Grima's hand moved upward caressing Faramir's thigh. Faramir sighed silently aware that Grima would mistake it for passion and as the creature's hand nearly completed its journey it was met by Faramir's own.

Grima withdrew his hand and sat back, a look of surprise and anger forming on his face. Faramir rose and stood over him, startling and stilling Grima instantly. Faramir grinned, pleased that he had the man pinioned and ready for shearing. Leaning forward, he put his hands on the arms of Grima's chair. His face was very close to Grima's face when he whispered, "I am going to kill Eomer of Rohan right now. Be ready to ride with me to Gondor in the morrow. We have much to do, Grima. Do you understand?"

Grima, transfixed by the proximity of Faramir's lips and the throbbing ache between his own legs merely nodded. "Tomorrow … I shall have to plan-"

"You will ride with me. Leave your men in place. They will hold your gains until I have made my own. And when we have finished, there is much much more I can show you," Faramir said moving slightly forward.

Grima swallowed hard, his breath labored as he watched Faramir come ever closer. He could feel an ache in his groin that was nearly unbearable and he felt that if he stood up he would cum from the movement alone. He leaned forward and just before their lips touched, Faramir stood back up. Grima sat for a moment and then leaned back staring up at the tall man with anger. "You are a cock tease I take it."

Faramir chuckled and walked over to his own chair picking up his book. "What I can show you, Grima Wormtongue will require more time than this. Of course, in Gondor we shall only have time." Faramir reached behind his back and pulled a long silver knife from a hidden scabbard. It glinted in the firelight and looked deadly. "Stay here for an hour or so, then leave and be seen. I will be only a moment." With that, he turned and walked out of the room.

Grima watched him go, fearing to rise and follow yet wanting to nonetheless. None of his men were in the room and he knew if he rose he would be undone. So he sat and relaxed, enjoying the pleasure of his body even as he reorganized Rohan to his own devices. After the death of Eomer, the end of Theoden would follow.

===Three hours later

A woman wailing shattered the stillness of the late evening. Grima, sitting in his room watching the snow falling outside his window rose and hurried to the door. People were running down the corridors, men and women filled with emotional upset and horror as they rushed to the great hall. He followed them somehow unnoticed in the crush as his guards fell in around him.

Entering the hallway, he saw that people were crowded around the banquet table agitated and wailing over something he could not see. Nodding to his men, they began to part the crowd and as he came closer, he saw the body of Eomer lying on the table his tunic covered in blood. A rider standing beside the table, his face filled with shock and grief held a large blade in his hand. Grima recognized it instantly as Faramir's knife.

Eowyn was standing beside him, her weeping face pressed against Eomer's chest and all around them women were tearing their hair and wailing. Moving backward, Grima turned and hurried away heading for the guestrooms where Faramir was staying. Down corridors, up and around staircases he went until he arrived at Faramir's door. He did not bother to knock but entered without warning, pausing when he saw the room was empty.

For a moment, he was flummoxed and then he swept through the room in a dazed flurry searching all of Faramir's belongings for whatever he might find. When nothing could be found he paused clenching and unclenching his fists in the middle of the floor uncertain what to do next. Faramir was not here. Eomer was dead. Therefore, to uphold his part of the deal he had to leave in the morning to go to Gondor and kill the Steward. At the sound of footsteps, he spun around and noted with relief and no small amount of fear and fascination Faramir's presence. "Where were you?" he asked.

"You know where I was," Faramir said. He walked in and paused. "I like what you have done with the place."

Grima looked at Faramir as if he had grown horns. "You make jokes at a time such as this?"

"Laugh and the world laughs with you, cry and you cry alone," Faramir said walking to his chair and flopping down. "Get me a drink, Grima. Killing someone is thirsty business."

Grima stared at Faramir then hesitantly he turned and walked to the table nearby pouring a drink in a glass. He hesitated a moment, nearly drinking it himself. Then he turned and carried it to Faramir handing it to him. Faramir took the drink and finished it in one gulp. He threw the empty glass into the fireplace, the sound of it breaking jolting to Grima's nervous system. "You are flinching, Wormtongue. I would think you would be inured to murder by now."

Grima stared at Faramir, unnerved and excited by the unpredictable and dangerous man before him. "You surprised me. You actually did it."

"I told you I would," Faramir said yawning. "I do what I say. Now it's your turn."

Grima turned toward the fire and then back to Faramir. "Your father. You wish him dead."

Faramir stared at Grima, the impact of his words unsettling. Faramir wanted many things from his father but death was not one of them. "Yes," he said simply, the lie falling from his tongue with more ease than he wished.

"Then I will do this thing for you," Grima said coming as close to saying 'I love you' to another as he would in this lifetime of days. "I would do many things for you, Faramir of Gondor."

Faramir stared at Grima, quashing his distaste as best he could. Playing an expression other than the moment was a long suit for him fortunately and he schooled his face appropriately. "And I, you, Grima. Tomorrow we leave."

"Yes," Grima said moving forward and kneeling before Faramir. He lightly laid his hands on Faramir's knees, squeezing them with an almost disturbing sense of relish. "I can do much for you now."

Faramir smiled slightly and then grasped Grima's wrists in his own iron grip. Grima cried out and then ceased, such was the force of strength that Faramir exerted. He eased slightly watching as Grima's tear-filled eyes bore into his own. "What you seek you will get. But payment in full is required first, Grima Wormtongue."

Grima nodded, settling onto the floor in a heap as Faramir let him go. He rubbed his wrists and rose to his knees again staring at Faramir with an aggrieved expression. "You enjoyed that."

"That was the point," Faramir whispered his eyes half-shuttering as he held the smaller man's gaze.

For a moment, Grima was filled with aggravation and anger, then it faded and was replaced with under-standing and appraisal. Staggering to his feet, Grima stared down at Faramir, a smirk firmly in place. "You make your demands clear."

"When the ledger is balanced, I will make you squeal like a pig," Faramir said smiling at Grima's discomfort.

Grima did not reply but turned and walked slowly to the door, pausing by it. Then he turned and looked at this, the most perplexing, mysterious and sexually compelling creature he had ever met. "I hope so," he said quietly. Then he left.

Faramir sat before his fire for several hours before finally moving to the bed to rest. He did not sleep the entire night.

===The following morning, in the stable of the King's House

Faramir had not breakfasted that morning. He had packed his saddlebags and made his condolences to the family holding Éowyn as she wept. The king had sat in a stupor as usual his seedy disrepair unnerving as around him the court fell into despair. The night before a tightening of security had rendered harmless the King's Cohort. They stood nearby glowering and showing such intensity of hatred it was painful to watch. He averted his gaze, making his farewells as he noticed Gríma nearby in the shadows. He was hovering, his eyes fixed upon the tall and noble form of the handsome 'Spare' of Gondor.

When he felt that he had made Gondor's condolences well enough to the family, he turned and walked through the hall. People huddled here and there in knots of deep despair mourning clothes adorned them and the women wore their hair free of cover. Overall, it was deeply depressing. Stepping out into the cold morning air, he surveyed the scene and fell in love with Edoras all over again. It was a very big city, deceptively so from the far off roads that led to the King's house, which was perched on a magnificent and rugged outcropping of stone. It was as if the broken back of the world had thrust upward toward the sun casting its bits and pieces here and there on the flat and wind-swept plain all around. Dramatic would be a small word for what he saw. Houses dotted the mound, winding streets of houses that made up the bulk of the capital of Rohan.

Villages, further outward from the center complimented this great metropolis adding to the commerce and artfulness of the people of this realm. He loved to come here, to spend time among the people who were so open and good. Rohan was a treasure of Middle Earth and it was his honor to be a friend of the family. They were his fall back people, the royal family of this kingdom and he felt a sense of homeliness here that too often he did not feel in Minas Tirith. His brother Boromir was his delight and his center but often he was gone and it was a bitter thing. Here, he was another son and brother and it was good for him to come.

He paused by the doors staring back down the hall. Meduseld was a beautiful building filled with tradition and skills of construction that called to your deeper instincts of place and value. It urged you to feel the power and strength of the people who built it. Gondor's great hall was cold, overpowering and a testament to generations of kings. This was intimate. It was home in more ways than he cared to articulate and so with a heavy heart he turned and walked out into the cold and clear skied outdoors.

Snow packed beneath every step he took as he hurried to the stables. People gathered in groups around the hall whispering, watching, their eyes upon him as he swept past. Down the slope to the stable, he walked nonchalant and calm appearing as he entered. Horsemen were there and they acknowledged him with nods. He nodded back and turned to the stall where his horse awaited, puffs of his breath hanging in the air around his head. It was cold and he stamped a hoof ready to go wherever the young man wanted.

"I'm here, my friend," Faramir said rubbing the animal's back with a handful of straw. It took only minutes to saddle up and tie his bags onto the saddle. Standing in the stall waiting, he considered whether Gríma was smitten enough to take the bait he had laid out. It did not take long to get an answer. A tall man, one of Gríma's, grim-faced and sullen stepped from a nearby stall and walked up to where Faramir stood. He peered over the stall and then around the stable before speaking.

"Gríma told me to give you a message," he said his voice hoarse and low.

Faramir nodded, saying nothing.

The man shifted for a moment disconcerted. "Gríma is going to meet you two miles from here down the road towards Gondor."

Faramir nodded again his gaze never wavering. The man shifted again nodding and turning, leaving silently through the back way. Faramir watched him go and smiled tugging on the reins for his horse to follow. Walking through the stable, pausing in the yard in front of the barn, he looked back up at the hall stark against the blue of the sky. The clouds had moved off a little and the sun was bright if not warm. Meduseld was magnificent he thought as he mounted his horse. Riding slowly down the winding road that led to the gates and freedom beyond, he noted the mourning that suffused the city.

People were streaming in as Faramir left heading toward the hall and the coming funeral of their champion. He tapped his horses side gathering speed as he turned toward the southeast and Gondor. Somewhere along the way, Gríma waited ready to join him on the journey. The thought of it made Faramir smile as the bitter cold of the morning breeze stung his cheeks.

The house was settled in a valley barely seen from the road. They had gathered there drawing comfort from the roaring turf fire and a plain but filling lunch of cheese, bread and butter and cold meat. The beer was strong but tasty, taking the edge off the ride from Edoras through the darkness of early morning. All they could do now was wait.

He stood by a tree shifting on his frozen feet, cursing himself for his weak indulgence. He could be home in a warm bed savoring the death of a major rival, yet here he was freezing under a tree on the road to Gondor. He was thinking with his dick he knew but he could not and would not do other. Something dark and sickly sweet hid behind the handsome façade of the tall soldier from Gondor. He was the key to even more power than he already had. They could mesh their achievements and be stronger than any other coalition or single entity in the lands of the world of Middle Earth. Certainly, they would together be stronger than Saruman.

Saruman.

The word stuck in his craw and he felt his bile rising. Saruman, who never had a good word to say to him, never a thank you or a hello, he raged silently. He would be sorry now. He would be sorry that his most faithful follower had taken bold steps toward his own shining destiny and had done it without his help. He, Gríma Wormtongue was now the de-facto King of Rohan. It would be the happiest day of his life to receive Saruman in his hall sitting on his throne, in his city, in his country. Saruman would rue the day.

As his cheer began to rise, Gríma noted a rider coming over the rise. He could see it was Faramir and so he turned boarding his own horse with difficulty. Turning, he rode out to the road to meet the rider and waited, his breath forming clouds around his head as he sat. Faramir slowed to a stop before him and Gríma coughed, clearing his throat. "You took your time."

"You whine too much, Gríma. You are lucky you are here. If you had not come I would have had to come and get you."

Gríma considered the pleasant expression on Faramir's face. "You enjoy this sort of thing. You enjoy murder."

Faramir smiled slightly. "Let us leave shall we?" With that, Faramir started down the road moving at a decent pace with Gríma behind working to catch up.

===Darkness was coming when they reached a little house nestled in a valley. Faramir had turned down the road that led to the door, his keen eyes spotting what Gríma had missed. They arrived in the darkness illuminated only by light streaming from tiny windows. Faramir dismounted and started toward a small barn next to the house. Gríma, watching, dismounted and followed, his wary eyes darting here and there are if expecting attack from all sides. The various knives secreted all over his body comforted him.

They entered a barn that housed a number of horses, their saddles stacked in the corner on the racks for such things. There were saddles of Rohan and Gondor. There was tack from places he had never seen. Gríma tugged the saddle from his horse and followed Faramir's lead, rubbing the horse with burlap and pulling down fodder for the rudimentary manger that the two horses would share.

Faramir, finishing turned and started for the house leaving a puzzled and intrigued Gríma to scramble in his wake. The cold hit them like a sledgehammer after the welcomed warmth of the barn. Trudging through ever deepening snow, they arrived at the house and knocked. It opened and they entered, bending down to clear the doorway.

Inside, it was warm and cozy. Several men sat by the fire, some with pipes, others with jars of beer. They stared at the two of them without comment as the mistress of the house bade them to sit. She put food before them and beer and they ate without comment. The other men began to talk softly together and overall it was comfortable. When Faramir finished, he rose and walked to the fireplace joining the men seated around it. Gríma, standing beside the table considered what to do. None of the men appeared too eager to invite him and even if they did there was nowhere in the group to sit.

He stood for a moment weighing his options and then decided to be bold. He walked up and stood behind Faramir, the heat of the fire welcoming to him. As he did, a man rose and turned silently walking to the table. He sat down and began to stuff his pipe from a pouch in his pocket. Gríma, watching him for a moment moved to the empty spot and sat. For a moment, all was well if silent. Then all the men rose save for Faramir and turned stepping back to stand by the wall behind them. Gríma, startled looked behind him before glancing at Faramir. The Gondorian was silent and seemingly unconcerned about the men moving away. Gríma looked at the grim men staring at him and then back to Faramir, concern rising inside. "What is the meaning of this? Is there something wrong?"

"There is," Faramir said softly. "Something is very, very wrong."

Gríma began to rise until one of the men stepped forward and shoved him back into his seat. He sat, glancing with fear from one face to another beseeching with his eyes for Faramir to intercede. Faramir cleared his throat and sighed. "I would tell you what is wrong, Gríma, but there is someone else who can do a much finer job than I."

Gríma looked at him as he rose moving away from the seat that he had occupied. From the back of the room through curtains acting as a door, a familiar figure stepped. He stared at them and gasped looking around the room wildly for any avenue of escape that was possible. There was none and so he sat grasping his robes in his hands as he began to sweat profusely. "What is the meaning of this outrage?" he asked.

"I would think you would grasp the matter handily, Gríma. Wormtongue," Éomer said moving to sit on the chair next to his nemesis.

"You are dead. I saw your body myself."

"You saw what we wanted you to see," Éomer said his voice soft with menace.

For a moment, there was no sound but the crackling of the fire and the sound of the wind around the corner of the house. Gríma turned shades of pale, outrage making even sharper his features as he sat silently. They watched him, pitiless in their manner. "What do you intend to do with me?" he finally asked looking from Éomer to Faramir and back again.

"We have to discuss that," Éomer said. He rose and moved to stand beside Faramir. He glanced at the others and nodded. They turned and filed out of the room, disappearing behind the curtains into another part of the house.

"You are dismissing witnesses to your foul deeds?" Gríma asked bitterly as he began to shiver with fear and tension.

Éomer looked at Gríma the way a predator looks at prey. Then he slipped his arm around Faramir's waist. He tugged the tall man toward him and Faramir slipped his arms around Éomer's shoulders. Without another word, Éomer leaned in and kissed Faramir on his lips lingering for a moment before turning a triumphant expression to his enemy. "You have no idea how long I have waited to do this, Gríma. To show you how much contempt I feel for you."

He slackened his grip on his lover and moved back to sit before him their knees nearly touching. "That you could think in the passage of ages of men that Faramir could ever want you just gladdens my heart to a degree that heals me of the many hurts that you have heaped upon my family. I can stand before you feeling nothing but pity instead of the fury of hatred that has been my lot since you came into our lives. You are responsible for the death of my cousin, Théodred and the enslavement of my uncle."

"I did nothing of the sort, my Lord," Gríma replied glancing from Faramir to Éomer and back. "I have done nothing but serve the king and your family with all the skill and dedication I could muster. You are wrong."

"Am I wrong to think that you would have Faramir too? That, on top of all that you stole from me, you could steal him too?"

"He murdered you. He stabbed you with his own knife," Gríma retorted leaning a bit back from Éomer.

"And so it looked did it not?" Faramir said moving to sit on the edge of a shelf. He grinned. "You died well, my friend."

Éomer grinned at Faramir. "Thank you," he replied the softness of his voice tender and filled with love. He rose and stood staring down at Gríma. Then he looked at Faramir enjoying the beauty of light on his hair as it reflected from a lantern on a hook behind him. "What we have to do now, my true and most beloved friend is decide what to do about Gríma."

Faramir nodded and smiled.

Spring had arrived in the lands of the horse lords, bringing with it the promise of foals of great quality. The mearas among them had foaled in the sheltered crags of the spring and summer pasturages encouraging a careful round up by the farmers who managed the herds. Birds had returned and green shoots were pushing up, providing excellent fodder for the animals after a long winter of dried feed.

The earth had been turned and farmers were hard at work planting and caring for the food that would carry them through the next winter. Flowers were beginning to show their buds and fruit trees fielded oceans of bright fragrant flowers attracting bees to their nectar. The earth had taken life away for four months and now it was giving it back. The people were happy and busy.

Edoras was bustling with activity as a major hub on the trading route between one settled place and another. Shops were full of goods made in many faraway places and people came there for the monthly county days to exchange or sell according to need.

In the King's House, activity was just as intense. The King was getting ready to go on his annual sojourn among the towns and villages of his people. Preparations for travel were being made and he was in his office giving orders to his loyal men who were more than happy to do his bidding. It had been not long before that Theoden had been an invalid, captive to the manipulation of Grima Wormtongue. Grima's name was seldom mentioned by anyone since that cold winter morning he rode out and never returned.

Searching his rooms, Gamma had found potions and other portentous objects in a small chest under Grima's bed. They appeared to have been part of the process that had kept Theoden enslaved. Now that he had been gone, life had slowly returned to normal and the king, restored, rejoined his life and his people with the focus and the will of old.

Upstairs, lying on his bed a tangle of sheets and long blond hair, Eomer sighed. "Come here."

Faramir stood at the window, staring out at the city as the morning breeze caressed his bare chest. He had just arrived from Gondor meeting once again with trade guilds concerning practical items of mutual interest and security on the commercial routes between Rohan and Gondor. He was Captain of the military units that made sure the trade caravans and other travelers were safe on the long circuitous routes from all ends of this part of Middle Earth.

"The day is going to be clear and bright," he said glancing over his shoulder to his lover. "The ride will be beautiful."

"Any time I can ride with you it is beautiful."

Faramir snorted and turned, perching on the windowsill as he gazed over Eomer's body. A few new scars here and there but not much else changed. He was still powerfully built, muscular from riding and fighting and pale skinned from wearing leather armor most of his days. His hair was loose on the pillow, a soft yellow cloud that was his personal halo. Given the circumstances, it ringed his head with light. Eomer patted the bed and yawned. "Come. Be with me."

Faramir rose and crossed the room, sitting down beside Eomer his arms bracing himself over the prone figure of his lover. Looking down at him, noting dark lashes flush against his cheeks and his full red lips he felt the love that was the best part of his life overtake his heart. Leaning down, he kissed Eomer softly his heart fluttering as a strong hand reached up and gripped his head gently. Callused fingers threaded through his hair and he sighed against Eomer's mouth. "Rise and shine, lazy butt. We have a job of work to do today."

"Do not remind me," Eomer said his hand falling to the bed. He frowned, his eyes still closed and sighed deeply. "I will be glad when that bit of business is over with."

"We had to do it, Eomer," Faramir said softly lying back alongside his lover. "It was for the good of two countries."

"I know," Eomer said quietly.

"We for whom much is given also much will be expected. We do not always get to live our own lives," Faramir whispered.

"If we did much would be different," Eomer said with certainty in his voice. He turned and raised himself up on one elbow resting a broad callused hand on Faramir's chest. "We would not part the way we do if this was so."

Faramir nodded slightly, a wash of emotion filling him. He felt a sense of peace at that moment he received nowhere else in his life and it warmed him. With the back of his hand, he touched Eomer's face warm skin to warm skin. Dark lashes folded against pale cheeks as Eomer embraced the simplicity of Faramir's soft touch. Eomer lay back and pulled the big man into his arms holding him tightly for a moment. "In a moment," he said quietly. "We will leave in a moment."

"You are going to kill me." Grima looked from one to the other, his hands shaking in his lap. A tear slid down his cheek as he watched them stare back silently. He shifted in his seat. "I can tell you things, important things, things about Saruman."

"And we are supposed to believe you," Faramir said quietly moving to sit on a chair on the other side of Grima. He was between them, trapped and it showed.

"You can. Why would I lie to you now?" he asked looking frantically between the two of them.

"Because that is what you do," Eomer said his expression hardening. "You lie the way some people breathe. Nothing you could tell us now can be trusted."

"But I promise you," Grima said emphatically. "I promise you that I will tell you whatever you want to know."

"That is what we fear, Grima," Faramir said quietly. He looked at Eomer who nodded. Rising, he pulled a thin rope from his pocket grabbing one of Grima's arms. Grima rose, struggling and Eomer countered him helping Faramir tie his hands behind his back. Grima screamed and cursed, struggling as hard as he could as they wrestled him and when the deed was done he was let loose to fall to the ground.

He cursed and cried, barely able to raise his head high enough to see them. Turning and gathering their winter gear, Faramir and Eomer pulled on dusters and fur-lined overclothes. Eomer grabbed Grima's arm and pulled him to his feet dragging him to the door. Faramir followed speaking softly to the men who had stepped back out from behind the curtain at the start of the fracas. Then he turned and followed Eomer out into the darkling snowfall and closed the door behind him.

===They rode down the trail and up toward the great tree that had such a significance for them. It had been a giant oak many hundreds of years old and in its split trunk rent in two by lightning, there was a blackened cavity. On a cold night months before, they had dragged an unwilling man up this same trail half carrying him to the place where he would meet his end. They had discussed it for a long time ruling out directly ending him themselves. They chose instead to give him back to Middle Earth and leave him inside the oak tree forever.

When they arrived at the spot, they sat uneasily each delaying that moment when they would find Grima there. He would still in all likelihood, be frozen and the ghastly possibilities bothered even these two seasoned warriors.

"After you," Eomer said glancing at his lover.

Faramir grinned. "It is your country. You must have pride of place. I will follow you."

Eomer sighed and smirked in spite of himself. He dismounted slowly and waited for Faramir, the two of them then turning and climbing up the slope. They paused before the tree's broken interior glancing at each other for a moment. Then Eomer leaned over and kissed Faramir. "Alright now, let's do this together."

Faramir nodded and took a deep breath. "One, two, three," he whispered and then they both stepped upward and peered inside.

"Oh, dear god," Eomer whispered softly …

The End c11/10/2007


End file.
